It never really ends
Just sort of twists and unfolds
Never ever cured
Just under control
Someday he'll **** me
Or the both of us I suppose
If she's lucky
She'll be spared the worst
Hope
Cause in reality
No one is.

need  
street  
just  
like  
gin  
time  
vermouth  
****  
blue  
beer  
man  
glass  
drink  
liquid  
shattered  
away  
bar  
notice  
feel  
soul  
right  
set  
main  
shadow  
white  
*****  
haiku  
perfect  
match  
shot  
big  
mornings  
past  
saw  
light  
join  
edge  
black  
candy  
make  
words  
elephants  
*******  
olive  
eyes  
poetic  
sound  
way  
long  
passed  
die  
motion  
page  
drain  
dallas  
yesterday  
martini  
brine  
passage  
window  
brand  
highway  
blank  
icy  
hills  
night  
sitting  
cheap  
carpet  
holding  
filled  
gulped  
condensation  
women  
pint  
quick  
imagine  
dive  
gripped  
professors  
stem  
point  
false  
self  
peace  
hardwood  
epiphany  
highball  
unspecified  
downed  
crystal  
means  
sting  
cinema  
percent  
mixing  
forget  
bukowski  
sifted  
fingers

like benny profane
@ the sailors' grave
boot heels etch
Hieroglyphic cuneiform
on saw dusted floors,
while blobs of mercury
nailed to the bar
drip
down
nauseatingly poetic
accomplishing nothing
proving even less.

Black smoke                    Binomial random
Exhaled, white                    Variable
Light                        Pr­obability mass
Condensed   Labels  Function
     humanity macro micro
         into seasonal index
meditative chants
Conceptualized meaning attempt
at poetry / waste of time
Death in a lecture hall behind
a prison of silver screens.

Beautiful in a way seldom seen
Knowing all too well
this is an illusion
Perfect shadow in name
it is neither.

Why then can't we just
****
and drink beer?
Surely those words must have
been written by
more men than just me

Your face is in the lights reflection
off the ice cubes in the bottom of every
scotch on the rocks

It's your skin I can feel
When my hand touches the
polished edge of the bar

when I drain from the bottle
I can see you
breathing life into
me

So why then can't we just
****
and drink beer
Why is it ever more than
just that?

Because of the mornings
******* mornings.

And I drank a beer for the
Poet,
         lyrically gripped on
                                             to the
stem of peace and understanding

I downed a shot for
                                   the
Women clutching their highball
                 of shattered self importance

I gulped wine from a goblet
for the professors, the teachers
holding their stein filled w/ false prophecy
              and cheap hopes.

And I shattered my glass on
                  the floor
                                                   Just to prove
                                                           ­     a point.